A Clash of Classes
by CretianStar
Summary: Master Holmes likes to test his new servants and little Molly Hooper isn't any different! Sherlolly AU, set in the past couple of centuries, future fluffiness and lemons.
1. Introductions

A/N: Okay for this I completely changed the time setting and shot it back a century or so. Actually more because it's Victorian but you get the idea!

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Day 19: Wearing Formal Clothes

**Clashes of Classes**

Molly Hooper was not fond of the starched black gown nor the slightly yellowing but mainly white apron that she was forced to wear.

The Holmes family were returning to their country mansion and she'd spent the past two weeks scrubbing every floor on the third and fourth floor of the mansion. Her hands were red raw but it was better than being on the streets.

Poor orphan Molly Hooper had been with various families since her parents died in a factory blast - those damn new stoves were killing more people than anyone was willing to admit. Regardless of the injustice of her family, Molly was an orphan at 13 and was in dire need of work. The Holmes' were her third family and this was only the second time she was to meet them - but they seemed the nicest so far. Saying that Molly had only met Lady Holmes but she had heard various rumours about the three gentlemen of the family.

Lady Violet Holmes was a strong willed woman who ran her household well but fairly - it was a well-oiled machine but she knew every servant and their backgrounds, she had even offered Molly commiserations on the loss of her parents, telling the awed 17 year old maid that she too felt the sting of death too often. Lord Holmes was somewhat reclusive; though he attended the dinners with his family, Molly had gleaned that he was often travelling for the Government and had just inducted his oldest son, Mycroft into the business and both were often absent. Mycroft Holmes was 21 years old and acted as the eldest should; often demanding complete submission and obedience from his servants - this trait had been quashed repeatedly by his caring mother but his father's pride often made it rear its ugly head. He had never struck a servant though. Molly with her fractured wrist that still creaked and ached in the winter was thankful for his lack of violence towards others.

The youngest son was Molly's main interest, and that wasn't even including the fact that she was to be his personal maid as well. Sherlock Holmes was apparently aloof, cold and more than a little grumpy. But she was interested by the strange man who took no part in aristocratic society no matter how often his mother tutted and scolded. With her eldest in the secret service, Lady Holmes was clearly concerned about the future of her family but more importantly the happiness of her boys.

Sherlock was sat in the horse drawn carriage looking furious.

"Mother." He snapped and looked at the tails he had been forced to wear.

"All your other clothes had been packed!" She smiled cheekily, Sherlock may have been a genius but Violet Holmes was crafty and cunning and knew how to play her sons. As any mother should after all when they grow bigger than you, you need every advantage possible! She smiled across at her sulking son, there was only the two of them in the carriage and Violet enjoyed these moments with either of her children; away from the commandeering influence of their father.

Sherlock sulked for the rest of the journey home, however his grace and admiration towards his mother argued with his sulky self and he did answer his mother's questions albeit somewhat petulantly.

Finally two of the four Holmes' stepped out from the carriage into the spring sunshine; Sherlock did like to see his Mother happy and Elderflower Mansion made his mother happy. She enjoyed being away from the bustle of London and while Elderflower had been a great place to grow up, for a boy at the cusp of manhood it wasn't as fun. Saying that Sherlock hated socialising but he did like to watch the people of London in their queer mannerisms and quaint behaviour - not much happened at Elderflower.

"Sherlock please stop pulling that face." She hissed under her breath and with a great show of reluctance Sherlock made his features somewhat more neutral. "Good." She had that smile in her voice again, which meant his dear _innocent_ mother was plotting something. "Sherlock I want you to meet your new serving girl, Molly Hooper. Miss Hooper this is Master Holmes." Sherlock was suddenly aghast; his dastardly mother was helping him interact with girls via the serving wenches?! Oh she'd gone a step too far. Unfortunately his breeding, and the gleam in his mother's eye meant he was going to have to be cordial to the mousey looking girl. He nodded in respect and mother and son sauntered into the house, being updated by Mrs Bells the housekeeper.

Molly stared in awe at the retreating figure of Sherlock Holmes; he was beautiful. She'd blushed crimson at his roving stare, she felt as though he had read every vein and mark on her body, even those beneath her clothes! What a scandalous thought. A thought that had made her hot beneath this starched collar. She longed to tug the stupid white bonnet off her head but Mrs Bells would make her keep it on while she was privvy servant to one of the esteemed family members.

It wasn't until Molly was taking Master Holmes supper up for the night that she really became acquainted with the peevish young man. She knocked, as expected, heard his low murmur for her to come in and saw his long figure silhouetted in the fireplace. She swallowed nervously but cleared her throat and walked in quietly.

"Your tea Master Holmes." She muttered and set to put the silver tray on his table but halted in her ministrations. "Would you like me to move the paperwork for you Sir?" Her voice was still low, but it was the loudest sound in the room minus the cheerful crackle of the fire.  
"How do you propose to do that Miss Hooper? That tray is far too heavy for you already. Your arms are far too underdeveloped but I rightfully presume that you are an orphan. It's still painful and you miss your parents dreadfully, I mean who wouldn't miss their mother. You're resentful of your life somewhat which tells me your parents were the better end of the poor scale and you have been thrown back into complete poverty." Sherlock's face was in almost near darkness and he watched, with a small amount of satisfaction that Molly coloured at his words.  
Molly had been warned by the other servants of Sherlock's attempts to belittle you and show off his genius. He craved intelligence and often couldn't find someone to match him.  
"Like this Master Holmes." Molly held the edge of the silver tray with the priceless bone china in the crook of her hip and with one hand before collecting the papers together with her free hand. With the papers into a neater pile, she placed the tray at the edge of the table and bowed her head, averting her eyes.

"You are different Miss Hooper." Sherlock looked at her with a strange mixture of astonishment and resentment. She had ignored his jibe and had managed to neaten the table up. He didn't want her dismissed or thrown out but he was eager to test his servants - it's why his mother almost had a continuous ad up for new ones. Not many lasted long.

"Thank you Master Holmes." He watched her eyes linger on the paperwork, a look of longing on her face. Then she tore her eyes away, as if she was aware that she had been staring fervently at the paper.

"Do you read Miss Hooper?" His baritone voice sent shivers up and down her spine and for the first time Sherlock read nervousness in Molly's behaviour. She picked at the starched skirt, played with the trimmings of her sleeves and touched her bonnet more than once - she clearly didn't like the formal wear either.

"I read a little Sir, not as much as you, for I cannot understand your paperwork." She gasped and he smiled softly at her faux pas. "I didn't mean to read... Oh I am sorry sir!" She squeaked. She was well aware that in a house of the secret service, reading the Master's paperwork was a big no-no.

"It is only a little Latin text I am translating Miss Hooper. Do not be afraid." He soothed and noted again the shiver that ran through her body. How bizarre. Was she cold? Even by this roaring fire?

"Apologies Sir. Please ring if you require anything more. Goodnight Sir." She whispered, bobbed a curtsey and practically fled into the hallway.

'You idiot Molls, reading their papers! Has it really been that long since you read anything?!' She scolded herself but was sure to wait up until Sherlock rang the bell again.


	2. Practice Makes Perfect

A/N: Okay well actually I thought these days led on quite well! Do I continue?

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Day 20: Dancing  
**Practice Makes Perfect **

"Miss Hooper." It had been over a month now since the Lady Holmes and her youngest had returned to Elderflower Mansion. The household had settled back into a routine and sweet Molly Hooper, one of the youngest of the serving girls, had also settled down. She greatly appreciated Mrs Bells the housekeeper and Mrs Lamb the cook. Both of the women had adopted the orphan somewhat, they appreciated her help and more so they appreciated her being the one to scurry around after Master Sherlock Holmes.

Lady Holmes called down the hallway to the girl was rushing off to find Master Holmes.

"Yes Milady?" She turned and walked back to see her Mistress' smiling face.

"Sherlock will be in the library. Can you tell him I require to see him straight away? Bring him with you to the ballroom. Escort him otherwise he will never leave. You have my express permission to take anything away from him." She raised an eyebrow and Molly couldn't help but smile at the wicked expression on the older woman's face.

Molly hurried off to the library and found Sherlock in the corner, behind one of the bookcases, the armchair he sat in was worn and threadbare but he had opted away from the comfier, newer seats - this must hold special memories.

"Yes Miss Hooper?" He asked irritably; he had come to like the awkward young servant but he hated to be interrupted whilst reading.

"Lady Holmes requests your immediate presence." Molly held her hands demurely in front of her; she no longer fidgeted in the youngest Holmes' eyes.

"Tell her I will be along in just a moment." He refused to lift his eyes from the page.

"Begging your pardon Master Holmes but she told me I was to use any means possible and to personally escort you to her in the ballroom." Sherlock raised calculating eyes up towards the girl. He'd have expected a blush or some form of submission but she stared back at him. How unlike her.

"Any means possible?" He drawled, closing his book and putting on the table next to him. He propped himself forward and raised one eyebrow towards the young woman.

"Yes Sir." Molly lunged forwards and grabbed the young man's hand. His noise of surprise made her giggle but she tugged on his arm. The surprise attack had worked in her favour and she had managed to pull him almost all the way until the door until Sherlock finally fought back.

"Really Miss Hooper?!" He argued as she was now pushing him through the door.

"Your mother." She puffed. "Told me she would forgive me for whatever means I had to employ to get you to see her." She struggled against his solid form - he was using the doorframe as leverage.

"You could try please." He turned to see the red-faced servant and comprehension dawning. She stopped trying to physically push him and looked up at him with a sceptical look. It was as the cynicism floated across her face that Sherlock had never realised how small his serving girl was - she really was tiny to his six foot 4 frame.

"Would that have really worked Sir?" She was being incredibly bold, even if her words were polite - she was questioning him. He really was a bad influence on the servants.

"No probably not but now it might."

"Please Master Holmes would you join Lady Holmes in the ballroom? Please?" Molly looked up at him, faux-meekness and she was surprised when he burst out laughing.

"Come along then Miss Hooper. I will not be the cause of my Mother's anger towards you." He sniggered and strode off towards the ballroom, with Molly scurrying at his heels.

"Ahh Sherlock. I see Miss Hooper was good to her word." Violet smiled at her son, though she was somewhat curious to the mirthful look on his face. "Do not go anywhere Miss Hooper." She watched the servant bob her curtsey and prepare to leave. "I wish you to remain."

"We need to up that servant's wages Mother." Sherlock bid his mother hello and whispered in her ear. "She is far more cunning than she lets on."

"There is more to her than you know Sherlock although I will bear your counsel in mind." She murmured back before standing upright before Sherlock and Miss Hooper. The serving girl was somewhat mystified and a little scared at being alone with both of the Holmes'.

"I wish for you to learn to dance again Sherlock. Miss Hooper will partner you." She looked, with internal glee, at the shocked looks on both participants faces. "No complaints."

"Lady Holmes, please it is not proper." Molly begged, fearing this was a trap and she would be thrown out either way.

"Miss Hooper, this is not a trick, I wish you to teach my son." At Sherlock's exasperated noise, Violet turned towards him, "Do not move one inch Sherlock unless it is to dance. Miss Hooper I have seen you teach the coachmen and stable lads the dances of your childhood. I wish to see if you can tame my son into dancing at the least. It is heartbreak for a Mother to see her youngest child look so forlorn at the edges of our societal balls." Violet Holmes had that look in her eye, and while Sherlock was a renowned genius, his Mother would always be a mystery. He'd work out her schemes seconds before they impacted upon him. He was now pouting, shoulders hunched and most clearly brooding. Molly was scarlet and looked terrified at the proposal. He looked up to stare at the serving girl. He had learnt a lot over the month she had been working for him.

He knew that she favoured her left arm even though she is right-handed and that her right knee ached when she over-exerted it. He knew that she could read to a much higher level than the average commoner which lead him to believe she was not as poor as she claimed. That had led him to be suspicious for a week or two, treating her poorly. However he came to somewhat of an epiphany when he flung a sugar bowl and she narrowly ducked.

If she was actually wealthy, well most wealthy women were somewhat pretentious and would not stand for the treatment that Sherlock was doling out. It was the reason he didn't enjoy courting women, or spending time with them. They would stamp their feet and scream like Evelyn Mavis had done when she had joined their services. She only lasted two weeks. But when the silver pot had clattered to the floor and Sherlock had glared at her, Molly had forced back tears. She turned and started sweeping up the luxury of sugar, righting the pot and putting the spoon and tub back onto the tray she was leaving the room with.

"Miss Hooper. I apologise." He watched her retreating back pause and heard the faintest of whispers.

"Accepted Sir." She had said nothing more and left. Sherlock was expecting his mother to rage at him for scaring off another servant but Molly Hooper returned silently the next night with his dinner, and the next. She was a bit of a conundrum to the keen mind of Sherlock Holmes.  
Sherlock found himself drawn from his regrettable memories back to reality, with a nervous, flushed Molly Hooper staring at him biting his lip.

"Fine Mother. You win." He admitted defeat and held out his hand to Miss Hooper.

"Ah excellent!" Violet clapped and sat herself on the armchair before the music began.

Molly had been asked to teach Master Holmes to dance but that didn't seem necessary as he swept her around the ballroom, easily falling into a dance that they both knew and Molly felt herself relax for the first time in a while. Especially in his company.

She laughed and sound mingled with noise of the music and Violet spied a smile cracking on her son's face as the dance became less regulated. She watched as the pair spun each other around the floor, watching Sherlock catch his hand under Molly's apron to lift her towards the ceiling. She span in his arms on the way down and the pair carried on.

Molly's old shoes weren't the best for dancing but Sherlock was hardly dressed for it either. The music came to its end and reality kicked in. He bowed as he released from her arms and shakily Molly curtseyed back, she had never felt so alive as she had when dancing with Sherlock but all hopes of a fairytale were rapidly diminishing.

She was a servant.

He was the son of an esteemed spy.

It was a clash of classes.


	3. Sweet Tooth for a Bitter Taste

A/N: Oh My! Your responses have been overwhelming and utterly amazing. You guys know who you are and you're just fabulous. You lighten up my working day! For that I love you guys!

Anyways, I apologise if there were grammar issues in the last one, I sneakily uploaded it at work using a copy and paste from my private email account so there probably were typos in there. In that case I really am apologetic! Again this is done the same way and sneakily been written since half 8 this morning while flicking to work every so often!

Also one last note, if you love Sherlock, please go and check out Freewaygirl and her story which is called "A Case of the Girl on the Run" – it is utterly awesome even if it's not Sherlolly. But in all honesty do go and check it out because it's well worth a read!

Anway enjoy the third installment!

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Day 22: Baking/Cooking

**A Sweet Tooth For A Bitter Taste**

The month that passed in Elderflower Mansion was quiet and domestic. Molly served Sherlock his supper every evening and he made her talk. He was piqued by the young woman, so awkward yet graceful. She was a calamity of contradictions; it was like trying to untangle a chain, one knot led to another.

The tranquility that had flooded the Holmes' home was shattered by the arrival of a messenger.  
Mrs Bells came hurrying into the kitchen where Molly was acquiring bread and cheese for Sherlock's supper.

"Lord Holmes and Master Holmes are returning!" The kitchen was thrown into a flurry and Molly just managed to slip out amongst the sudden servants dashing everywhere with her master's supper firmly intact.

After climbing the servants stairs she knocked once politely and was recieved less than cordially.  
Even by the dim light of the fire Molly could see Sherlock was irritated.

"Good evening Sir." She bobbed a curtsey after placing the platter on his table.

He said nothing, but she was used to the mood swings, normally it was when one of his experiments had gone awry and he would fall into a broody silence for hours, sometimes days. However it had been fairly rare and his anger was somewhat internal. Molly was yet to feel the wrath of a Holmes family member.

"My brother is coming home." He suddenly growled and stood from his chair in a swift movement. Molly was no longer startled at this either; he was a pendulum man.

"Is that not good Sir?" She asked, tidying away his papers yet again.

"Not at all, he is inconceivable. He is arrogant and clever, he now holds a minor position in the British Government and it has only exacerbated those traits. Regrettably he can be pig-headed and cruel. He takes great delight in hurting the feelings of those around him." Sherlock had his arms folded as he stared at the flames.

"That's not true Sherlock." His mother was standing at the door. Molly looked down out of respect for the older woman. "Miss Hooper dear please don't be so formal. Yes Sherlock your brother can be a little arrogant but he does not take pleasure from insulting you." His mother sat on the spare armchair and took the tea-cup that had been sat beside the teapot.

"I'll fetch another cup for you sir." Molly mumbled and slipped from the room.

"When will they be arriving?" Sherlock asked grumpily.

"Tomorrow morning." Violet smiled. "How is Miss Hooper? She hasn't run screaming and cursing yet so I can only presume that is good news?" She looked up, eyes full of innocence at her son's searching look.

"She's is adequate mother. She knows her place and is intelligent enough for me to bear." Sherlock replied neutrally; his mother was up to something again.

"Well I can only hope she can bear you as long as you can bear her." There was that twinkle again.

The next day the elder Holmes' men arrived with a clatter of hooves. The staff had turned out in their best clothes again for a brief inspection by Lord Benedict Holmes but it was swift and Molly was soon out of the starched clothes into her more comfortable working ones.

There were a few jibes between the brothers throughout the day as the family toured the gardens. Lord and Lady Holmes happy to be back together again, even if they were discreet Sherlock saw the lift in his mother's attitude around her husband.

It wasn't until dinner that events took place; jibes and deductions that went too far.  
It wasn't until Molly's appearance at the staff door of the dining room, dessert in hand. She felt Sherlock's eyes on her but behaved cordially towards the Holmes family. Before she even put the platter down Mycroft's voice broke the comfortable silence that comes with over-eating rich foods.

"She's a thief Mother. Why must you take in these pity case girls?" Mycroft said bored, noticing Sherlock tense and the serving girl in question freeze up.

"I beg your pardon Mycroft?" His father said icily.

"She's a thief Father, look at the way she's behaving, tense and shifty eyed; she's nervous and wants to flee." He smirked at the look of anger on Sherlock's face.

"That is because you have just accused her on one of your groundless deductions yet again Mycroft." His mother spluttered. "Are you questioning my judgement on employing our household staff?!" Her deadly question should've warned Mycroft that he was treading a dangerous path but it didn't, his time in London working with the Government had put him above his station.

"Actually, the real question is why Sherlock is so angered at my words. Do you have a soft spot for the girl? Sherlock Holmes, my brother, dealing with emotions. Something is serious." His voice was lewd, mocking and Violet watched her youngest son coil in anger.

"Stop Mycroft." Violet ordered.

"She has a secret Mother, perhaps one that involves our darling Sherlock..." He was insinuating something crude and Molly was scarlet. She had deposited the platter on the table and Mycroft was leering at her; she felt sick. "She's either thieving or attempting to get pregnant by Sherlock, how can you not see this!" He was angry now that he wasn't being listened to.

"She is neither Mycroft. Do not talk about things you do not understand!" Violet had stood up now, she was furious at her eldest son, her husband had remained sitting but was levelling Mycroft with a death glare. Sherlock was sat in the corner, shaking silently with anger. It only intensified when he caught Molly's eyes; she was terrified of what was happening in front of her - after all it would decide her future.

"Miss Hooper can you kindly find Mrs Bells and tell her it's like Bleinhem Palace again." Lord Holmes suddenly stood and it was at his movement that sense seemed to shock back into Molly and she curtseyed low, shakily, all four Holmes' saw and as sedately as possible, headed for the door.  
When the door had closed though Molly felt the tears track down her cheeks and she ran to find Mrs Bells. The old woman got the story out of a hiccoughing and terrified Molly, leaving the unhappy girl in Mrs Lamb's capable hands while she and Polly made sure none of the other servants were near the dining room when the domestic argument really kicked in.

"Mother how can you not believe me when I say that girl has a secret!" Mycroft had thrown his dinner to the floor.

"Yes she does have a secret Mycroft but you are not privvy to it!" Violet had rounded the table and was standing up to her much taller son.

"Violet dear calm yourself. Mycroft is being impertinent but I will deal with it." Benedict placed his hand on his wife's shoulder and felt the anger curling in her body. However at her husband's touch she relaxed somewhat. "Sherlock, please take your mother to my study and sit with her a while." His father looked his youngest son dead in the eye and saw a fire in his son's eyes. The pair left, Sherlock escorting his suddenly fatigued Mother from the room, she was leaning heavily on his arm and Benedict was angered at his son's arrogance.

"Mycroft, how dare you think you can put yourself above this family." Benedict rounded on his son as soon as the pair had left. Mycroft was taken aback at his father's tone; he was siding with the serving girl?! "I got you your job in the government's secret service because I thought you were mature enough to cope with the stresses it brings. Clearly I was wrong. You are taking out your frustrations on your mother and our staff. You have been back for less than 24 hours and you believe that you can belittle every servant we have here." Mycroft had never seen his father so mad. "Yes Miss Hooper has a secret and yes she could probably be said as a charity case but your mother has very good reasons for taking Miss Hooper in and if she has not told you then clearly there is a reason. Go apologise to your mother."

Even when Mycroft went to apologise it turned into another argument.

"She has a secret Mother and as future head of this house I have a right to know!" Mycroft had shouted at the older woman.

"How dare you Mycroft Holmes, your father is still well and good and at this rate you will not be in charge of this household!" Violet was appalled at her son's arrogant behaviour.

"You tell me woman!" That was when he had raised his hand to hit Violet; however Sherlock, who'd been watched from the corner of the room took the blow instead.

It had been the final straw for not only Violet Holmes but also for Benedict; he may have been somewhat aloof and incredibly clever but he loved his wife more than the Earth and nobody was going to hurt her. Especially not his own son.

Of course all of this took place away from the ears of the servants, who had been disturbed at the way dinner had gone. Molly was cowering in the room she shared with Polly, the other woman comforting her. Lydia Markson flew into the room.

"Mycroft's leaving! The eldest Holmes is leaving!" She all but shouted and the other two girls were suddenly aware of the sound of horses' hooves. The three ran to the window that overlooked the courtyard, pressing their faces to the small window. The lone figure of what undoubtedly was Mycroft Holmes vaulting onto his horse while light spilled out onto the gravel was a scary one. It made Molly shrink back from the man who had accused her of being a thief, he'd been onto finding out her secret and she couldn't have that.

Sherlock had found the three women huddled on the stairs, he had come up behind them silently, he watched Molly hang back from the window, but saw Polly rub soothing circles into the young woman's arm. Her hunched shoulders, foot scuffing the floor, fingers twiddling with a loose string on her apron told Sherlock she was nervous and upset. He cleared his throat and deliberately stood on the creaky top stair.

All three whirled at his movement and curtseyed hastily, attempting to hide the guilty look on their faces.

"Miss Hooper, if you would follow me. Miss Markson, MissBell can you please attend to Mrs Bells, in cleaning the dining room. I apologise on my family's behalf." His rich baritone voice was somewhat muted and Molly could hear the anger in his tone still.

The other two scurried off, Polly searching her friend's face but left when Molly discreetly nodded.  
Sherlock led her downstairs to the kitchens and Molly started to panic.

They were going to throw her out and leave her outside in the dark!

"Can you at least let me collect my belongings first?" She broke the silence that had shrouded the pair. He looked confused momentarily until understanding showed in his eyes and Molly was shocked to see a brief smile.

"I'm not dismissing you Miss Hooper." Sherlock turned and started to walk again, stopping briefly when he realised a bemused Molly was not following him. "Come along Miss Hooper."  
When they entered the kitchen, Molly only just realised it was silent; it was empty, devoid of all servants, it felt empty without Mrs Lamb's loud voice ordering various helpers around.

"What's going on Sir?"

"For tonight you can call me Sherlock. This is my apology to you, on my brother's behalf."

"I do not understand... Sherlock." The name felt weird on her tongue, sounded strange in her voice. She missed the look that passed through Sherlock's eyes when she uttered his name.

"Well Miss Hooper..."

"Please call me Molly then, if we are to be informal." Molly suddenly blurted, and this time she didn't miss the look that flitted across his features.

"Very well... Molly... for the way my brother behaved, it was disgustingly rude and he has upset my parents greatly. Especially because of his sudden violent streak that seems to have appeared." Molly knew that the bruise forming on Sherlock's cheek was from his brother. "For his manner towards you, I have come to offer a peace treaty. How about we make a cake together?" Suddenly Sherlock was very nervous; he was sweating, his palms were sticky and all because of this small, mousey looking serving girl staring up at him with those confused eyes.

"Errr I'd love to Sherlock. You know how to bake?" She was just as nervous as he, she was chewing her lip and her eyes darted across to the furnace which was still crackling away.

"I was a very curious child, much to my mother's chagrin and I do indeed know how to bake a cake." He smiled suddenly and the awkward tension and the pressure Sherlock had felt vanished as she grinned back at him.

His brother's harsh words seemed to fade away as Molly darted around the kitchen collecting utensils and ingredients while Sherlock shrugged off his jacket, undid his cravat and collected one of Mrs Lamb's old aprons from the hook by the door. With everything assembled in front of them the pair mixed in the ingredients, arguing every so often when their family recipes differed.  
Sherlock didn't miss the wistful look on Molly's face when she talked of her mother but he didn't pursue it - she'd had enough tears for the evening.

Neither of them saw Violet and Benedict standing at the doorway as they argued over the amount of flour they should use.

"You're a meddling old woman." Lord Benedict kissed his greying wife on the forehead, seeing the smile that graced her features and the twinkling in her eyes.

"Ben my love, if Sherlock had his way the opposite gender would be an unknown thing to him for the rest of his life." She cuddled into her husband and quietly the old couple slipped back to the study, each pondering their individual sons'.


	4. A Slip of The Hand

A/N: I'M BAAACK! Honestly, I've got two days left of this internship and its a little monotonous! But it allowed me to produce this!

(Side note: I have no idea when colours came into existence, I've only got a hazy idea of what sort of time frame this story is even set in - it's a little generic but I'll let you decide!)

As always, drop me a review! Because you make my day everytime you do, plus I reply if I can!

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As Violet and Benedict ate the beautifully iced sponge cake the next night, Sherlock couldn't help but notice the glint in his mothers eyes. Panicking again slightly, he held fast and watched as she complimented the cake she was eating.

"Mrs Lamb!" She called to the robust woman at the edge of the room, all prepared to clean up.

"Yes Milady?"

"This is a beautifully made cake! Iced so wonderfully as well!" Sherlock was aghast as her realised his mother's teasing. "You really must make it again!" That twinkle was echoed in Mrs Lamb's.

"It's not my cake milady. It is a delightful recipe by Miss Hooper Ma'am. I am also to believe that Master Sherlock added his own baking expertise." Sherlock was now pouting but incredibly glad Molly had been allowed an early night. Turning her gaze onto her youngest son, Violet Holmes laughed at his childish expression.

"It's a divine cake son. You really must allow Miss Hooper to assist you when you're baking again." Violet patted the sulking young man on the hand before spooning into the slice before her.

"Thank you Mother." Sherlock was still grumpy but dinner passed in amicable fashion and the three Holmes withdrew to their sitting room without any more maternal interference.

"Sherlock darling, feel free to return to your own quarters. Your father and I need to discuss your brother." Violet raised an eyebrow and Sherlock raised his in return.

"Certainly mother. I have been left without a serving girl for the night thanks to him." Pulling himself upright and dusting off his jacket, Sherlock kissed his mother's hand and acknowledged his Father before slipping quietly from the room.

"Sherlock I know you're still there!" She raised her voice somewhat and heard his chuckle. "You haven't tried that trick since you were eight and I locked you in the linen cupboard." Violet heard his footfalls disappear up the stairs and turned to her husband.

"Miss Hooper is a special young lady." Benedict swirled the amber liquid of his brandy in the crystal cut glass and stared into the flames. "You do not know how grateful I am that you allowed her into our home sweetheart." He heard the rustle of fabric and felt the pressure of his wife's hand on his forearm.

"Do not worry yourself Ben. I will continue to offer Molly a place until you've caught him." He saw the soft smile on Violet's face and pressed his lips once more to her forehead.

"Genevieve and Gregory Hooper were such a lovely couple. Doting parents on sweet Molly. I never dreamed..." Benedict put the glass on the mantle and turned to face Violet.

"You never dreamed that you would be her guardian I know but with the danger that she faces ..." Violet drew off and saw the worry written into her husband's face. "He won't find her here."

"Not unless I deal with Mycroft. I was hasty in sending him away." Benedict said heavily and the pair embraced; a life in the Secret Service meant everywhere you looked there were enemies and secrets.

"Master Holmes?" Sherlock jumped and saw the door open slightly. Molly stood with her head poked in and he was desperate to push his pulse back to normal.

"I have given you the night off Miss Hooper?" Sherlock was uncertain as he watched her enter with a tea tray.

"It's supper time Sir and all the other girls' are busy with their own duties. I am paid to serve, not to have an early night." She smiled and deposited the tray with barely a sound before rearranging his paperwork again. "Besides there's a rumour that you have pig's eyes in here and the other girl's solidly refused to enter." Sherlock snorted; serving girls could be so feminine at times. But Molly was different, yet again.

"Are you feeling better then Miss Hooper?" He enquired quietly, long fingers crossed, the pads pressed together.

"Much better Sir." She answered with a definitive tone to it.

"I have been told by my mother to pass on my compliments to the baker of the cake last night." He slipped in and watched, with amusement and confusion as she froze temporarily.

"Then indeed sir, it must have been a very nice cake made by you."

"My mother knows you made it Molly." His voice was like silk on her skin and Sherlock didn't miss the shiver that passed through her at his utterance of her name.

"Thank you then Sir. My mother would've been proud to hear that." Molly finished sweeping up the paperwork into a neat bundle and went to leave.

"Sit Miss Hooper." Sherlock suddenly commanded and Molly froze, she turned and the question was clear in her eyes. "I wish to know a little more about you." Panic was evident in her features but nevertheless she did as she was bid. Maybe Mycroft was right; she really did have a secret.

"Okay Sir..."

"Sherlock."

"Sherlock...what would you like to know." She sat primly at the edge of the armchair, hands together in her lap though Sherlock watched her fidget; picking at her nails. She held herself well, spine straight, head held high, legs crossed neatly at the ankles; she sat like a Lady.

"When's your birthday?"

"Third November and yours is the 4th August Sir." He looked astounded, but only briefly.

"Favourite colour?"

"I quite like pink but it's a very expensive colour, then again I also like dark greens." She shrugged and before he opened his mouth once more, she slipped in, "Yours is either a dark blue, practically Navy or a rich purple. However purple is expensive so you opt for burgundy or deep reds." She shrugged again and he narrowed his eyes.

"Okay, favourite animal?"

"Horses, the same as yours." She wasn't fidgeting anymore, she had a look in her eyes, and Sherlock only just recognised it. It was amusement; she was enjoying him floundering at her deductions, he knew that her smile echoed one he usually used to triumph over the average individual who usually crossed his path.

"Anymore questions Sherlock?" She said sweetly and he saw the faked innocence as she giggled. She stood and bowed her head to Sherlock as he sat, staring at her shrewdly. "I should probably return to my duties Sir." She smirked again and he snorted.

"You are entertaining Molly Hooper. I shall enjoy figuring you out." Was that a flash of fear that crossed her face? Sherlock wondered what emotion made the enjoyment become a little fixed, a little faked but he didn't ponder it.

"You take your time Sir, not everything has to be rushed. Take your time with those you love, you never know how long you will get with them." She curtseyed once more and turned to leave, she was surprised to hear Sherlock stand, and was even more surprised to see the warmth on Sherlock's face.

"I am sorry about your parents Molly." He whispered and drew her hand from her side to his lips. Pressing her knuckles to his mouth he heard her muffle a gasp and lowered her hand. "I'm sure, whatever it was, it was a tragic accident."

"They... they died in a factory blast Sherlock." She whispered, throat choked by the emotion showed by Sherlock and she saw the flicker in his eyes.

"I am truly sorry." His whispered again and without thinking, pushed a stray piece of reddish brown hair behind her ear. Shocked at the intimacy of his actions, Sherlock pulled back very suddenly, refusing to look at the wide eyed Molly who seemed frozen into place.

"Good night Master Holmes." He heard the quiver in her voice and her soft footsteps, the door open and the close with a resounding click.

"Good night Miss Hooper." He said to the empty room, returning to his seat lifting the cover and seeing the final slice of the cake they had made together.


	5. From the Horse's Mouth

A/N: Okay, this is the next chapter because I'm waiting for my shredder to be emptied at work so I thought I'd set this one out for you! What do you guys think so far! By the way, if you're any better than I am as a fact checker, feel free to tell me when you're like WOAAHH that's not the right time period! So yeah!

Review and Enjoy my dears!

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"Sherlock!" His mother's voice could be heard throughout the echoey entrance hall of Elderflower Mansion.

"Yes Mother?" He appeared on the half landing of their grand staircase.

"Ah you're dressed. Are you ready?" She smiled and Sherlock saw his mother decked out in her riding habit; the navy dress was as long but not as structured, designed to sit more comfortably pillion.

He nodded once and the pair, joined by Lord Holmes headed towards the stables and once saddled the three set off across their estate, amicably remarking on the various sights before them.

The few labourers they had were working the modest farm the Holmes' owned and they all nodded their heads at their Masters before carrying on with herding the cows back towards the waiting milk maids.

While his mother and father seemed to be in idle conversation Sherlock thought of Miss Hooper.  
'Who was she? Why was she causing so much trouble? His parents would normally have dismissed a servant under Mycroft's accusations. Did she really have a secret then?' His deep line of thought was interrupted by his mother's patient repetition of his name.

"Yes Mother?" He pulled himself from Miss Hooper clouded thoughts.

"You're daydreaming again son, I was just saying to your father that it's such a beautiful day." She smiled patiently however Benedict could see his wife's mind chewing over Sherlock's day dreams. Sherlock was normally an attentive young man, paying great attention to every detail, and Benedict had been married for more than 25 years, he knew what she was thinking and hoping.

"It is indeed a lovely day!" Benedict watched his son pull himself together, straighten himself and turn to his curious parents.

"It's a beautiful day Mother." Sherlock said primly relieved somewhat as Violet lapsed into a small gossip about their neighbours back in London. His mind was still chasing clues over his serving girl and found it was like catching smoke; he didn't know her well enough, he knew the answers to basic questions, answers which still brought a smile to his face as he remembered her wit. His mother caught the smile and said nothing, her own triumphant grin made her husband shake his head at her interfering. He pulled his stallion towards his wife's choice of ride and whispered in her ear.

"Stay out of it Vi." He heard her chuckle and she pulled back to stare at him, both were unaware of Sherlock's suddenly suspicious stare.

"Darling, they're my babies and I will help them until I die." She grinned back before urging her horse forwards into a canter. Her husband gave chase and Sherlock's shook his head in disgust. For all of his father's absences Sherlock had never once believed him to have played away, when his parents were together they were like a couple of newlyweds, but he knew at work his father was a far more powerful and maybe even dangerous man than the gentleman who was currently calling his wife all the names he could think off as she galloped off.

"So unlady-like." Sherlock snorted and turned his own mount back towards the stables where he was surprised, and elated, to see his serving girl waiting for him.

"Good afternoon Master Holmes." She bobbed a curtsey as one of the stable lads led the bay gelding towards the mounting block. Sherlock saw, with a flare of emotion, that the lad's eyes were continuously roving over Molly's body, mainly in two places.

"Good afternoon indeed Miss Hooper. What are you doing here?" Maybe his tone was a little sharper than necessary as he watched her jolt in surprise.

"I came to see the horses sir." She was polite and somewhat stiff at his rebuff.

"Ah yes, your favourite animal." He nodded and tugged off his riding gloves. "Do you have a favourite one here?" He nodded to the line of horses, heads hanging over the stables. She smiled and nodded once. "Show me?" Sherlock was desperately trying to make his tone softer, the stable lad had annoyed him but thankfully gone in the other direction, not without a longing look at Molly's backside. Molly smiled again at his request; a genuine smile and the pair walked through the stables stopping at the final horse; an old farm horse.

"Matilda is your favourite horse?" He looked at the ancient roan creature, the horse seemed very taken with Molly who pulled out a couple of apple cores from her pocket and fed them to the happy horse.

"She's so gentle and old. Phillips let me ride her, she's a good Palfrey, very good for young children, I..." Molly paused and Sherlock saw her desperately search for words. "I rode one just like her when I was a child at my grandparents farm." She rushed out the words.

A lie. Sherlock narrowed his eyes but said nothing. She may have just provided him with a clue.

"Then you must have sentimental value towards horses such as these, being your last connection to your family?" Sherlock forced his tone to be light, swallowing back questions as his serving girl patted the old horse on the neck. She nodded, eyes downcast.

"I should probably return to the house now Sir, I haven't swept the hearth in your study yet." She was making excuses and Sherlock saw straight through them, however he let her pass and watched as she scurried back towards his house.

"Phillips!" He called for the head groom as he strode through the courtyard, the weathered old man appeared from the hut in the far corner. "How long have we had the strawberry roan in the farthest stall?"

"Since before you came back Sir, not too long. We got a couple of new arrivals at the same time but your father sent the horse on with Miss Hooper, the serving girl, saying your mother had seen the pitiable creature and refused to let her go to waste. She's still a good horse, good on the farm land." He tipped his hat to his master who was left analysing the new pieces of the puzzle.


	6. Sinister Mister

A/N: Short chapter but I LOVE the suspense!

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"You're sure that you've seen that little orphan brat, alive?!" A gruff voice broke the heavy tension of the fire warmed room. The smell of leather bound books and cloves was nauseating to the ratty man that stood at the door, his hat nervously clenched in his fists.

"Yes sir, Miss Hooper escaped the fire that killed her parents." The rat like man's name was Anthony Quickering. But to the underground network of criminals, he was better known as Quick Tony; infamous amongst the lower circles for petty crime and prostitution. His side line of loan sharking provided a ready income and a name for himself as the thugs at his command were often sent to some poor debt crippled family to collect.

But Quick Tony had never dealt with gentlemen before. He'd heard of the gentlemen who liked commoners to rid themselves of pesky problems like a maid that's suddenly pregnant, or a servant that's got a bit too loud for their station - those sort of things were just rumours.

Until he met the man before him. Two men in fact, they were both shadowed by the fire, their positions carefully planned to hide their identities. But he knew they were a father and son pair. Known only to him as M. Now if Quick Tony had been a learned man, or at least literate, he'd put the pieces together and work out who his employers were. If Quick Tony had dealt in these circles before he knew that no sane assassin worked for M as those they employed were often killed after the job is done.

"Her grave is empty, we have since checked." Quick Tony fumbled with the flat cap in his hands. "How would you like to proceed Sirs?" He didn't know where to look so he stared at the intricate swirl detail on the carpet.

"Father, we can be rid of her should Quickering find Lady Hooper within the next week. The colonel will take care of her." The younger of the two men whispered, revealing pale skin to Tony's nervous glances, pale skin with a shock of dark hair. But the man withdrew again and Tony's eyes darted down again.

"Mr Quickering." The elder voice turned Quick Tony's attention back to the shadowed armchair. "Find Lady Hooper."


	7. Mistakes

A/N: This took so much work to do, in the end I had to go jogging to get the answer from the recesses of my warped mind.

As always enjoy!

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Lord Holmes left the estate a week later, departing on a fast horse despite his age.

Sherlock didn't return to London with him, instead he watched over his somewhat miserable mother. The household seemed to have deflated somewhat at the loss of Violet and Benedict's playful words.

Violet soon shook herself from her unhappiness; she was used to her husband disappearing at a moment's notice for the sake of the country. When she was in the fresh flourishes of her marriage she had initially wondered if it was Great Britain she had married, not one man. But as time progressed and as Mycroft and Sherlock were born, she cherished the time both with Benedict and away from him. When he was with the family for too long he could be commandeering, and well it was a free spirited woman he had married, and free spirited she would remain.

She also needed something to occupy her mind and watched as Molly bustled into Sherlock's study with freshly cleaned glass tubes and lab equipment. Her eyes narrowed, her smile widened and she slipped into her study to plan how to help her poor socially awkward son and the very mysterious Miss Hooper.

Violet knocked on her son's study, hearing the clink of glass and metal instruments.

"Yes?" Sherlock opened the door and his face changed when he saw his mother. "Ahh Mother, yes?" He stripped off the thick leather gloves and raised an eyebrow at the smile on her face.

"Isn't it Sunday Sherlock?" He nodded. "Isn't it Miss Hooper's day off?" This time Sherlock's face was creased into a frown but he slowly nodded again. "Then why is she helping you Sherlock?" She gave him a mischievous smile and Sherlock sputtered. The girl in question was actually holding up part of his experiment and her arms were beginning to ache. She coughed to gain his attention and he spun to stare at her, Molly saw Lady Holmes' head pop around the door and smile into the gloom.

"Sorry Sir but I'm going to drop this unless you help!" She bit back giggles as he rushed to relieve her of the awkward contraption and the pair placed the delicate gizmo on the table.

"Apparently it's your day off Miss Hooper." Violet was standing patiently, watching the interaction between her charge and her son with interest. She watched Molly blush crimson and stammer something along the lines 'I enjoy helping you Sherlock.' Which in turn made Sherlock get a little hot under the collar, Violet had to bit the inside of her cheek as she saw him twitch his nose. She knew that little give-away; it meant he felt awkward and was embarrassed. She smiled again.

"Clearly I was wrong then Sherlock to think that Miss Hooper would like to go riding today? I believe Phillips' son Jonathan is helping Lydia to ride." She held her face in a neutral position as Molly's eyes lit up. "Maybe Sherlock could help tutor you?" She grinned and left with a rustle of skirts.

Sherlock watched Molly turned to him wide eyed, pleading and Sherlock felt something break inside him.

"Please…Sherlock?" Molly whispered.

"I…cannot I am afraid." He watched her face fall but added. "You may go with Lydia, I do not doubt that Polly will be there as well and Phillips Senior, you will get riding lessons from him. I can cope on my own with this." He turned back to the cluttered work bench, desperate to ignore the silence of the room.

"Thank you Sir." She clipped out and before he turned around he heard the soft click of the door.

"Dammit." He groaned staring at the mess of metals and materials in front of him unhappily. "Dammit."

**London**

"Mycroft!" Benedict strode through the plush corridors of the 31 Margery Avenue. The modest building was in the middle of London but not many people gave it another glance as they bustled around outside.

"Yes?" The younger man turned to face his father who was taking in the smaller details of his eldest son's appearance.

"How are you?" He started but his son held up his hand.

"Save it Benedict. I have a meeting in fifteen minutes with a Mr Moriarty and his Son who are very interested in donating money to saving our Queen." Mycroft said pompously, ignoring his Father's sudden pale demeanour.

"What are their names?" Benedict had to lean heavily on his normally decorative cane and gasped slightly, struggling to fight the panic that was flooding his body.

"Why _Father?!_ Bothered that I've got them as my clients not yours?" Mycroft sneered. "Sir Andrew and his son James."

"Mycroft, you have to listen to me." His father was deadly serious and Mycroft turned to him in curiosity. "These are not men that we need in this building. They are dangerous and threaten our personal safety. Forget the Queen in this Mycroft, they threaten your Mother, your younger brother, myself and most importantly yourself." He clutched his son's arm and heard footfalls behind him. "Please son." He swiftly vanished into his office before the two Moriarty's arrived to greet a rather brooding Mycroft. With his ear pressed to the door Benedict strained to listen to the polite chatter that was occurring outside but all too soon Mycroft moved his new clients onto his office across from Benedict's.

"Sirs, it is so good to meet men so clearly invested in the future of this great country." Mycroft smiled and gestured for the pair to sit as he took his place behind his desk.

He studied the pair; Moriarty Senior was once dark haired, now streaked with grey, his moustache fairly small, his beard was also well trimmed. Even if Mycroft hadn't read up on his newest clients, he would have immediately seen that Andrew Moriarty was an academic; the ingrained chalk in his sleeves and the battered leather briefcase, the gold trim had been replaced but the bag itself was well loved. So well loved that the lock was broken and the flap slipped back a bit. Inside were three notebooks and Mycroft could just spy the corner of an academics hat as well; he must have come straight from teaching.

His son was a different story. Mycroft watched the dark haired man, his narrow face held a trace of insanity and his eyes were lit up with some sort of mad glee at being in the building. The dark eyes were roving over the room, taking in every little detail. There was not a trace of _anything_ on James Moriarty, he was impeccably dressed, there was barely a crease in the very expensive suit. Every so often James' eyes landed on Mycroft who smiled politely but couldn't help feeling a sudden swoop of fear in his stomach.

"We put a great deal of thought into the running of this country." James said watching young Mycroft as closely as Mycroft was watching him. Mycroft broke eye contact and went to fill three tumblers with his finer whiskey.

"We just thought we'd like to add a little more of a hand." Andrew smiled kindly at Mycroft who warmed slightly to the older man, more so than the slightly psychotic young man sitting opposite. "How is your father Mycroft, can I call you Mycroft?" Andrew lifted the crystal tumbler and toasted to the him.

"My Father is very well at the moment." He said stiffly, James and Andrew shared a passing look, things were not well between father and son in the Holmes household.

"I have known your father a long time." James knew his father's play of being fatherly, a figure to trust, to confide in.

"My father is a very secretive man, it comes with the job." Mycroft was still wary of the two men, his father's warning still prominent in his mind. "Shall we get down to business?" He smiled politely and for the next hour the trio discussed the donations that the Moriarty family would make and the benefits they would receive in return. James was bored at the end of it but held his countenance well under his father's watchful eye. Finally it was too much for him to bear and as they were concluding dropped a passing comment.

"I hear your younger brother and Mother are out at your country home at the moment?" Mycroft smiled slightly and nodded.

"Yes they are out at Elderflower right now, Lady Holmes enjoys the summer weather in the country." Mycroft smiled again and led them out to their waiting hansom. "Enjoy your day Sirs." He bowed his head in respect.

"See you soon Mr Holmes." Andrew nodded and the cab pulled away from the street. "What was that all about James?" The older man hissed at his smugly smiling son.

"Think about it Father, the Hoopers' were close with the Holmes, who would you entrust your daughter to if you knew you were marked? Would you send her to the crazy Aunt that lives in Devon or your family friend that's actually part of the secret service?" James raised his eyebrow, now away from Mycroft his Irish lilt was returning in full strength, his father's carefully composed English accent was now his natural tongue but James had spent too long at their manor in Kenmare to disguise it for long.

Andrew's eyes narrowed but he said nothing more as they returned to their hotel room.

"Fine." As the door was shut and the maid dismissed. "Give word to Sebastian to send a few of his men to Elderflower to see."


	8. Stand and Deliver

A/N: I've had a nasty thought, I have actually come up with an alternative ending but I don't know whether to post them both. Also which do I post first; the nice ending or the nastier ending? Decision Decisions.

Enjoy this heinously long chapter!

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Miss Hooper was sat atop the roan, Matilda with a beaming smile on her face. Edmund Phillips had seen her natural grace on a horse, whether it was sitting pillion or astride like a man.

In fact she had sat like a man at first, making both Lydia and Polly giggle at the scandal. She had soothed Matilda with a soft brush through her mane and then swung her leg over the saddle and the horse had barely side stepped. Jonathon, Edmund's son, had written it off to Matilda being old and used to various people but his father knew the first time he'd tried to saddle that horse up she had been somewhat skittish and had taken a fair amount of coaxing. But the old horse master had kept tight lipped while John had lifted Lydia into the saddle. Polly had a tight hold of the horse's reigns whilst Molly was content sat atop her own horse and surveying the world from horseback.

Her posture changed almost immediately; she stopped hiding, she sat erect upon the old roan, her head held high, yet when Phillips let her walk, unaided, to the paddock, she moved with the horse. Either she was a born natural or she had been tutored. If Sherlock had witnessed the change in Miss Hooper's demeanour his brain would've worried over the information, slotting it into various situations but this wasn't Sherlock. It was Phillips and he had been natural with horses since he was a toddler so he put it down to an inherent skill of Miss Hooper's and left it at that.

Molly urged Matilda into a trot as soon as they passed through the gate and ignoring the cries of her friends and the two Grooms. She left novice Lydia behind, snorting as she knew that Lydia was not fond of horses but was terribly fond of Jonathan Phillips and urged her horse into a canter, a loose circle that brought her back to her friends.

"Come on girl. Like always." She whispered and the mare whinnied as though she was enjoying herself as much as Molly. The wind unpinned Molly's hair and she just managed to grab her cap and stuff it into her pocket as Matilda's forelegs brushed through the long grass. Her brown red hair streamed out behind her and her dress fluttered. Molly laughed as Matilda set her steady pace but her brief moment of freedom stopped as she came back to the unimpressed faces of Master Phillips and the others.

She had the decency to look sheepish under the angry Head Groomsman's eyes. But he had a soft spot for the young serving girl and after a few harsh words felt his ire fading.

"What if Master Holmes had been here?!" He scolded.

"What indeed." A rich baritone voice interrupted the riding party and all of them scurried to bow to Master Holmes sitting on his bay gelding, Isaac.

"Sir…" Phillips sputtered.

"Apologies Master Holmes, it is my fault and my fault alone." Molly dismounted and stood before her Master, eyes downcast. She didn't want to get her friend's into trouble.

"Nonsense. It is your day off for all of you, feel free to spend it how you like." Sherlock raised an eyebrow and Molly dared to look up. There was a smile in his eyes, she'd seen it before when one of his experiments worked successfully.

"Thank you Sir." Miss Hooper quickly pulled herself back into the saddle and Sherlock watched, his eyes narrowed. Both Phillips and Sherlock saw the easiness Molly had around horses and both thought it over.

"Anyway Miss Hooper, I had come to take up my mother's advice of offering tutelage but it seems Phillips has it covered." He said, feeling awkward all of a sudden, he was superfluous here.

"Not at all Sir, if you don't mind me saying I'll be teaching Lydia and Polly here, Miss Hooper is without a tutor and I'm sure there's no-one better than you." Phillips smiled and Sherlock eyes narrowed again, this had his mother written all over it.

"If you do not mind me interrupting?" Sherlock asked politely and Phillips nodded. "Very well it seems Miss Hooper is already a fairly accomplished rider, so we will head to the edge of the estate towards the river and leave the paddock to help Miss Markson and Miss Bell gain confidence." Sherlock stated and headed off towards a grove of trees, turning back to look expectantly at Molly who was staring at him.

"You wish for me to follow?" She asked innocently and he nodded, urging his horse into a trot. "See you later." Molly grinned, pushing Matilda forwards.

"You will tell me _everything._" Polly warned her friend as she rode off, waving in agreement. Sherlock was surprised to see Molly a blur past him as she cantered towards the trees. He wasn't having any of that and sped up, chasing Molly as she edged the copse of trees and Matilda whinnied again. She slowed down as they reached a stream and Sherlock did too, the horses slipping into a comfortable trot together and then a walk as their riders laughed.

"You can ride very well Miss Hooper." Sherlock noted, there was curiosity written all over his face.

"I told you Master Holmes, I used to ride as a child on the farm." She looked down, hiding the blush that came from the exhilarating ride.

"You cannot canter on a farm horse Miss Hooper."

"You can, Matilda is a farm horse." She argued, patting the roan's neck who tossed her head as though she was part of the discussion.

"Matilda is not a farm horse, she may be now but she is not bred like a farm horse. She is too lean and her shoulders are not broad enough." Sherlock commented drily, watching Molly who examined Matilda with interest.

"You can tell all that?" She smiled and realised both Matilda and Sherlock's mount had stopped and were grazing next to the river.

"Yes." He said simply and dismounted, he turned to help Molly down and found her already on ground level smoothing her black uniform. "I can also tell you're incredibly good at riding but you were tutored, you're not necessarily a natural." Sherlock watched and led Isaac to the stream.

"You can?" She was suddenly smiling, as though it was all a game but Sherlock saw a trace of panic in her eyes.

"Is this funny to you Miss Hooper?" Sherlock asked somewhat stiffly.

"No but this is." She had stripped off her boots and stockings and paddled her feet in the cold water. She cupped some of the stream, uncaring that the hem of her dress was soaked and threw it in the direction of a startled Sherlock. He spluttered as the water dripped down his face and there was a moment when the atmosphere between them was tense until he launched a handful of water at Molly.

"How dare you Molly?" He growled and the water fight ensued. They splashed one another, Molly took full advantage of the time it took Sherlock to take off his own shoes, and covered him in a deluge of water but he took revenge was his larger hands pushed walls of water towards her.

"No Sherlock!" She squealed as he cupped a handful of water and poured it over her head.

They were soaked by the time Sherlock had locked his arms around her waist and was clinging to her as she squealed. He turned her in her arms in an almost innocent movement when the pair of them stopped and realised the compromising position they were in. But neither of them moved, if anything Sherlock's arms tightened around her waist and Molly's arms slipped around his neck. Their faces neared one another, eyes wide open when Matilda suddenly reared and whinnied loudly. The noise made them jump but the sight before them made them jump even further. Four men were closing in on them, two on each of the banks of the stream. Masks in place, pistols drawn at the pair Sherlock glared at each of the four, assessing weaknesses while his arms tightened around Molly.

"Nobody move." The gruff voice made Molly freeze in his arms and she turned away from the speaker.

"What do you want?" Sherlock's voice was firm while Molly buried her face in Sherlock's wet lapel.

"We want the girl." The man holstered his gun whilst Sherlock refused to let her go. "Don't be an idiot boy. Give us the girl and we'll let you live." The man growled and all three were distracted as Sherlock backed up along the river bed and nobody noticed the horses.

"GIVE US THE GIRL!" The man shouted and fired his gun once into the air, unaware that the horses were behind him. Matilda reared out of fright at the noise as did Sherlock's mount and by a stroke of luck they clipped two of the men round the head. Sherlock, his arm still tight around Molly dove for one of the fallen guns and turned to face their attackers. Molly scrambled up the bank and grabbed all of the shoes they had left on the bank. Soothing a frightened Matilda she stuffed the shoes into the saddlebag and grabbed at Sherlock's horse who tried to rear again.

"Isaac no." Molly hissed and tugged on his reigns, her hand running over his neck she held onto him and managed to swing herself into the saddle before calling desperately to Sherlock. The gun was aimed at one of the men and Molly took a chance. She knew the men wanted her for one reason and she couldn't let Sherlock discover why they wanted her.

Dropping Isaac's reigns she urged Matilda forward, the roan jumped the stream and charged towards the men, when one took aim at the horse, Molly pushed her onwards and the two men scattered.

"Sherlock let's go!" Molly shouted as the man scrambled for their weapons. Barefoot Sherlock pulled himself into a skitterish Isaac's saddle and the pair galloped off at full speed as gunshots echoed behind them. Not one word was said between the pair of them until they had jumped the paddock fence, not stopping to undo it, and came to a clattering halt at the edge of the stable courtyard.

"Mother!" Sherlock bellowed from the yard and there was a flurry as servants and grooms rushed around. "Lydia find my mother. Now." He ordered as he helped a shaky Molly off of her horse.

"What happened?" Both Polly and Phillips were there, grooms grabbed at the horses as Sherlock held the serving girl in his arms.

"We were attacked, by the stream." Sherlock said shortly and as the horses were led away he turned to Jonathan. "They're going to be frightened, so you need to be careful. There were gunshots and you know Isaac isn't a hunting horse for a reason." The groom's son nodded and followed the two horses back to their stables as Violet burst from the door, Lydia hid in the doorway.

"Sherlock what happened?" She asked worriedly, barely even feeling smug at the way Sherlock was holding Molly.

"Four masked men attacked us out by the stream." Sherlock muttered. "We need to get dry inside." He said pointedly at the crowd of servants that had formed around them.

"We need our shoes. They're in Isaac's saddlebag." Molly said suddenly and felt everyone stare at her feet.

"You rode barefoot?" Phillips interrupted and the pair nodded. "We'll bring the shoes in for you. Go in and get dry." He nodded and disappeared into the line of stables. Violet led them inside, followed by Lydia and Polly while the rest of the staff went about their business in a rather subdued way, wondering who had attacked the Master of the house and whether they would attempt here next.

Molly had been pulled into Lady Holmes' study, her wet clothes tugged off of her while Polly nipped upstairs to get her spare uniform, Lydia leaving with the damp clothes to be dried by the hearth in the kitchen. She was dressed once again, without a hat, which she realised was in her other dress pocket and Lady Holmes had knocked as Polly was tying the last fastening on the dress. Molly curtseyed as Polly did but Polly left when Sherlock came in. His hair was stilly damp, curls unruly and the two stood with one another in front of Violet's searching eye. It landed on Molly first but gestured for them both to sit.

"What happened Miss Hooper?" If Sherlock was surprised his mother had aimed her questions at Molly he didn't show it, he just watched as Molly explained, without so much of a stammer. She explained that Sherlock had been giving her riding lessons but she stuttered slightly on the water fight and turned to stare at Sherlock.

"We had a water fight Mother. In the stream." Sherlock explained quietly and at any other time Violet would have been delighted at the news. All she could think at the moment was she needed Benedict.

"Sherlock can you wait outside a moment I need a word with Miss Hooper." She read the confusion in her son's eyes but her own stare promised answers so he left without a word, just a gentle squeeze on Molly's shoulder which was not missed by Violet.

With Sherlock safely outside of hearing range Violet took Molly's hand.

"Molly are you okay?" She murmured and saw the terror in the girl's eyes but she nodded and swallowed.

"One of the voices I recognised. I…I don't know how I know it but I do know his voice."

"Do you think they wanted to kill you?"

"Without a doubt, they wanted the Hooper line ended." Molly looked at the older woman in front of her, a woman who had a spirit akin to her mother's, it made tears form in Molly's eyes. "They wanted the secret dead Lady Holmes."

"My name is Violet right now." She whispered and Molly nodded, biting her lip to stop the sobs. She was taken back to the night when she heard her Mother's screams as she hid in the secret passage behind her bookcase. But right now was not the time for memories. The older woman pulled the young girl into a hug, wrapping her into her arms, a feeling Molly had missed desperately. The smell of Lily of the Valley made her sob and Violet rocked the girl in her arms. Never having a daughter it was slightly alien to Violet as well but it felt the most natural feeling in the world as she let Molly cry, tear staining her dress.

"I'm sorry Violet." Molly hiccupped and pulled a hanky from her pocket and wiped her tears.

"Nonsense, you have a reason to cry Molly, you have known so much heartache for someone so young." Violet stroked a curl of hair away and Molly nodded before pulling herself together. "I am going to call Sherlock in now. He will have a lot of questions for me but I am going to send you to bed. I will not divulge your secrets Molly, but I need to be able to tell Sherlock that you need protecting. Is that okay?" She murmured and the serving girl agreed, standing again as Violet went to fetch Sherlock.

"Molly, are you okay?" Sherlock swept into the room, having already seen the dampness of his mother's bodice and then the red rimmed eyes of Molly.

"I'm okay Sherlock." Her voice was thick with tears and he looked searchingly at her.

"Miss Hooper is going to have an early supper and bed now and we need to talk Sherlock." His mother's quiet voice was authoritative from the doorway.

"Yes Molly you should sleep." He was still worried, Violet could hear it in his voice but Miss Hooper scuttled out of the doorway and down to the kitchens.

"Sherlock please sit." Violet sat herself in her armchair as an anxious Sherlock folded himself into the opposite one.

"Mother…"

"Sherlock. Your brother was right in some sense that Molly has a secret. It is nothing like Mycroft believed it was but she does have a past that both your father and I wish to conceal. Now until your father arrives home I do not want you questioning anyone about Molly." Her words were quick and Sherlock was silenced. "I need you to protect her. If today is what I believe it really is then she needs your protection Sherlock. Subtly though. Do not lock her in your study as a form of keeping her safe. Just be that presence that she can rely on."

"I can do that." Sherlock said after a heartbeat of silence.

"Good. Now look after her for me." She whispered, standing and kissing her son on his damp curly hair. "Oh, next time there's a water fight. Take spare clothes Sherlock." She grinned and disappeared out of the doorway.


	9. Arrivals with a Chance of Conflict

A/N: So I changed Doyle's cannon, this is an AU after all. I'm back guys, from a very VERY rainy Spain which was depressing but I am back with a super long chapter to make up for my absence. Enjoy as always you wonderful little things you!

* * *

"James. Calm down." Andrew Moriarty murmured to his son whose fist was raised, ready to strike an already bloodied and broken heap of clothes.

"He failed us!" James roared his Irish lilt was pitched at an insane level.

"Sirs." A new voice appeared at the door and both of the Moriarty men turned glare before their ire weakened somewhat. The sharply dressed military man drew their attention from the whimpering bundle on the floor. "Shall I remove Mr Blacksman from the room?" His voice was emotionless and neutral.

"Get him out of my sight Moran." James hissed and flopped into his armchair whilst two of Colonel Moran's men dragged the groaning man from the room.

"Mr Blacksman and his men managed to locate Miss Hooper's whereabouts. It would also seem that he gleaned information regarding the protection of the Lady." The Colonel's voice was quiet, only just heard above the crackle of the fire. At the silence of the other men he continued. "She is fiercely protected by the youngest Holmes brother, he was the obstacle that stopped Blacksman from obtaining Miss Hooper." Pulling a sheaf of paper from his pocket he studied the writing. "It would appear, Sherlock Holmes, protected Miss Hooper from our attack and any new plans will require a slightly more deceitful hand." The Colonel folded the piece of paper and tucked it away in his jacket and waited.

"We have much to discuss Moran. Sit." Andrew smiled.

"This is Dr John Watson." Lady Violet introduced the gentleman at her side to her youngest son who barely even looked up.

"Nice to meet you Master Sherlock." John held himself like a military man, leaning heavily on an ornate cane, Sherlock's thoughts came thick and fast as he surreptitiously examined the man. His main concern was whether he was a danger to his Miss Hooper.

"Sherlock." His mother's reprimand broke through the cloud of deductions and drew Sherlock's eyes to the pair. "Doctor Watson will be staying with us for the foreseeable future, his father is a friend of your father's." She raised an eyebrow and Sherlock stood to greet the Doctor who was wary of the almost rude Sherlock Holmes.

The evening progressed companionably, Sherlock under his mother's hawk-like gaze kept his questions and snide remarks at a minimum but it appeared that John Watson had been prepared for the scorn and let it slide over him. He ignored the jibes as Sherlock's deductions became more and more personal but a slight tic appeared on his left cheek as the other man delved in deeper. Lady Violet's temper grew a little more frayed and her orders at Sherlock were lasting but mere minutes as another conversation was struck up.

Sherlock's investigation of the other man was purely on making sure he was not someone out to hurt his household and Sherlock was thorough in his work; he did discover the man's love of chemistry, biology and all matters conducive to science, rising John Watson in Sherlock's opinion.

Molly Hooper walked in at the very heat of the moment and read the tension in the room; Lady Violet was clutching at the arm of her chair Sherlock was leant forward, keen on dissecting the nature of John Watson while the good Doctor's jaw was tense.

"I thought refreshments may be required." Molly eased herself into the room, acting oblivious to the atmosphere and neatly deposited the new teapot, cups and saucers before swapping the old ones onto her tray. "Doctor Watson are you feeling at home at Elderflower Mansion?" She was conversational in her manner and Sherlock was surprised at her easiness of speech for two reasons; the first was, she was a servant and the Doctor was a guest, it was almost improper for her to be heard as well as seen. The second reason that niggled at Sherlock was that she was on friendly terms with him already and the posture of the Doctor changed; he relaxed, no longer under Sherlock's scrutiny he smiled a wide smile.

"Indeed so Miss Hooper, thank you for helping me settle into my rooms."

"You're welcome Sir, I thank you for caring for my foot." She smiled again and Sherlock felt a flare of _jealousy_ in his stomach.

"Not at all Miss Hooper, it's my fault the horse trod on you so it's only fitting that I do my job."

"Are you travelling alone Doctor?" Molly had rearranged everything the room unconsciously, prolonging the conversation, feeling Sherlock's intense glare she turned away from him towards the newcomer.

"Indeed so, I have just returned from Afghanistan and then St Bartholomew's Hospital in London, having my knee repaired when I received the invitation from Lady Holmes to join her out here for a few weeks." Doctor Watson was good-natured, his fight with Sherlock almost forgotten as he turned to the bemused young man.

"Well Lord Holmes informed me that you had returned injured from war and I thought it only fitting to offer you a place of recuperation." Violet had reclined in her chair, her eyes switching between Sherlock and Molly. That girl was something of a wonder, she had dissipated a situation that could've been possibly disastrous in a matter of minutes, all with a few words and a fresh teapot.

"Lady Holmes is there anything else you require?" Molly turned expectantly to the older woman who smiled and shook her head.

"That is all Miss Hooper, thank you very much." Sherlock caught the extra meaning in his mother's words and scowled. He watched Molly curtsy to the room and turned with a swish of her skirt, slipping out of the door which closed with a soft click.

"She really is a lovely young servant, you do not find many women with such a sweet nature." John remarked and Sherlock felt that flare of jealousy again but before he could utter a single sarcastic remark John added. "Oh she's taken the sugar…"

"I'll fetch it, there's no point ringing she'll just have to walk all the way there and back, it'll be a wasted journey." Sherlock almost gabbled and Violet had to hide a laugh as her son disappeared from the room. She laughed aloud at John's confused face.

"Sherlock makes the family hard to protect Lady Holmes." John stretched his aching leg and Violet smiled softly.

"He's such a stubborn boy, always has, always will. There are a lot of faults to him but I think loneliness is at the core of it. Which is one of the reasons you are here Doctor Watson." Violet's eyes had that dancing glint in it once more but John didn't know the woman that well and never recognised it.

"You want me to befriend such an impossible man, no offence intended Lady Holmes." John sighed and stirred his cooling tea. "Where has Sherlock got to with that sugar?"

Sherlock had caught Molly in the passage leading back to the kitchen and pulled her, tray and all into a doorway.

"Master Holmes!" She almost squealed as he took the tray away from her, depositing it on a desk.

"What happened to your foot?" He demanded and Molly quirked an eyebrow.

"Doctor Watson's horse trod on it." She folded her arms and Sherlock was taken aback by the tone of her voice. "Stop worrying about me Sherlock." She was now slightly playful but it didn't nothing for Sherlock's highly strung nerves.

"How can I not worry when you were almost kidnapped a week ago? How can I not when you were nearly shot and dragged off by some scum of the earth?" Sherlock hissed and started to pace the room. "How can you tell me not to worry when I witnessed this, puzzled it over and see no logical explanation for their want of you? Tell me not worry as I know my mother is withholding information about the reason behind the attack!" He was shouting now, "Remind me _Miss Hooper_ how I can relax knowing someone wants to hurt you and by extension my family. So pray tell me how not to worry every time you go to town with silly Miss Markson and Miss Bells and wonder if you'll come back with them!" Molly was standing straight and tall, listening to his rant while her face held almost no emotion. The only giveaway was the sheen of tears in her eyes.

"I never realised it affected you so much Master Holmes." Her voice caught a little but she said nothing more and picked up her tray once more. "Excuse me." She left the darkened room and Sherlock groaned. He wasn't good at caring for people; it was alien to him to let someone into his mind. Strike that he thought with a sour note, Molly Hooper had wormed her way into his heart. He was unhappy at the revelation and sickened, how did he deal with the emotions that came with this nonsense – it was not maths nor science, love did not appear to fit into chemistry nor biology. He understood procreation and he understood the acts of marriage but he had never experienced it. Molly Hooper was a scientific conundrum that his logic-based brain was struggling to understand, she could not be categorised, she could not be experimented with; she was proud and fierce but full of emotions and emotions were not his forte.

Molly put the tray of cold tea at the edge of the kitchen before Mrs Bells could spot her and ask her for another job and scampered upstairs to her room. Tiptoeing past Lydia's room where she could hear both her and Polly gossiping she slipped into her thankfully quiet attic room. After clearing Polly's laundry from the floor she managed to jimmy up one of the floorboards and rooted in the cavern beneath, her hands brushed over the metal and she sighed in relief. Uncertain Molly felt a prickle of worry and removed the box.

The intricate Celtic design had kept her amused as a child, tracing the patterns over and over but now there was heartache intermingled. The family heirloom from her mother's side was a weight on her heart. Running her fingers over the metal once more Molly smiled wistfully then made a rash decision. She followed her quiet path back downstairs, listening in at the door of the drawing room to hear Lady Violet converse with both Doctor Watson and Sherlock, she stole onwards down the corridor to Sherlock's study. Slipping inside, she lit a candle and opened the metal box. Carefully folded papers lay inside, waxed closed and Molly bit her lip, desperate to open them – but what she didn't know would never hurt her right?

Making her mind up, Molly unfastened the box and began to rifle through Sherlock's mountain of books. Deciding on a loose portfolio of laws that Sherlock had thought of she removed a sheaf of papers from the leather bound wallet and folded them with care by the light of the small candle. Using the wax to seal the documents she pressed her finger into the drying material, ignoring the slight burn she blew on them to dry them faster. Swapping the papers from her box for Sherlock's mock laws Molly sighed, slipping her own folded parchments into the portfolio and slipping back onto the shelf amongst the identical ones. Resealing the box Molly slipped out of the door, the box carefully concealed under her dress. As she rounded the corner she heard Sherlock's voice behind her and froze.

"Good night Mother, Doctor Watson." His clipped tone told her of his ire, probably from the rant she had witnessed earlier and then heard the study door shut. Molly was relieved to find Polly still nattering away in Lydia's room, managing to conceal the box before returning to the kitchen.

"Mycroft." Benedict barked and put his head through his son's doorway in the office.

"Yes." The younger man looked up irritably from the document he was staring at. The pair had not been getting along at all whilst in London, they had come to blows yet again about the Moriartys' but even Mycroft was suspicious over them. Not that he would ever admit it. When the Moriartys' had come in yet again their question had been somewhat personal and Mycroft had been wary of their questioning line, but he smoothly steered them away every time, they gleaned no extra information from him.

The last time Andrew Moriarty had turned up alone and Mycroft had found both of the older men having a quiet argument in his father's office. Not being seen by either he listened at the doorway.

"_You stay away from my family Andrew, you have no right to be around here." Benedict had hissed. _

"_Come along Benny, we have such a great past together." Moriarty's voice was slick and oily, making Mycroft shudder. "After all, I gave you so many great cases to work on." He snorted and Benedict threw his fountain pen on the floor. _

"_One day you heathen I will link you to evidence and you will go down for every murder you have ever committed." Mycroft had never heard his father so angry. _

"_Keep trying Benedict, The Hoopers will not be my last." The warning in his voice had been cold yet personal and Mycroft walked silently back to his office before heading back to his father's with loud and important footsteps. His feigned reaction towards Andrew had been perfect._

Mycroft had not told his father he had heard the two men's argument but mulled the information over, the Hoopers; relatives of Molly's perhaps? That serving girl? Why murder some serving girl's parents?

"Your mother has written to me, they have been attacked at Elderflower, I am leaving now. I expect you…"

"I'll be ready in two minutes." Mycroft cut across his father and grabbed his coat. The men shared a look before hurrying down the steps, hailing a hansom cab to take them to their stables.

Inside the cab Mycroft couldn't bear not knowing a piece of the puzzle anymore.

"Who are the Hoopers and why did Moriarty kill them?" Mycroft watched his father's face swap from confusion to regret.

"Please son, let me explain with your mother and brother there. I need all the information as much as you do, and we will only find that at Elderflower."

* * *

Additional: Let's be honest John had to be in there. I had planned an alternative ending for this story which would've been sad and seen John introduced then BUT for my degree I have to read "The Man with the Twisted Lip" and inspiration with John involved struck.

Review if you so dare! (There are cookies if you do!)


	10. A Change In The Game

A/N: I have no excuse. It's been a month. It's entertaining my muse comes back as uni starts (gosh darn her). Anyway please enjoy this (short) installation. Accept my apologies also! Pretty please accept them.

* * *

Sebastian Moran was used to waiting.

He was a sniper.

It's what he did.

Waited.

He was a patient man and he observed like a hawk.

He watched Molly Hooper, she was an ordinary looking girl - hardly regal or aristocratic she suited the serving life more than that of a society wife. But Sebastian watched. He couldn't bungle this up.

James was relying on him and he hated what James did to people who screwed up. He wasn't going to be on that list.

He waited until night fell. He knew that Lord Holmes and his eldest son was home, no doubt spooked by James' chilling words. That man always seemed to kick things off before they should really start - making his job a lot damn harder. Getting Molly out under the eye of an experienced secret service agent and an underling was going to be tough, but hey he was the best assassin in the British Empire. This is what he did.

.MH.

Molly suddenly found herself under the inspection of all four of the Holmes. They used to pop up every so often and ask a menial task that was often completed by another member of staff before she'd even arrived. Even John Watson kept appearing, asking her for some tea, or perhaps a nice spot of walking to ease the cramps in his leg. Cramps that didn't seem to ail him too much, Molly noticed.

In the end servant or not she cornered Sherlock.

Sherlock had interfered the least, but nothing went past that boy and Molly felt in her gut her secret had been told. It was as she came down from dusting the tops of the library shelves that she found Sherlock waiting for her, inspecting as always.

They hadn't spoken much since their last row and Molly sighed, swiping dust off her face catching her breath as Sherlock's thumb swept along her jaw slowly.

"Dust Sherlock?" She raised an eyebrow and sneezed once. He drew out of his strange reverie and nodded.

"Dust Miss Hooper." He confirmed before holding his hands behind his back.

"You have another task for me sir? Is it perhaps to catch the leprechauns that run over the hills? Or maybe to be away with the fairies?" Molly snapped suddenly, her nerves couldn't take anymore false cheeriness. It was like everyone knew she was marked for death but were determined for her to be kept in the dark. Oh she knew alright; she was only being a servant because some madman was out to kill her. He wanted her secrets dead and she knew who the killer was and that her parents had been the key to bringing down this man's network.

"What do you mean Miss Hooper? Is this not your role? Are you not a serving girl?" Sherlock drew himself up to his full height.

"You tell me." She hissed and at that moment Benedict and Violet walked through the door. It didn't take a secret service agent to sense the tension in the room.

"Sherlock what's going on?" Violet turned to his son who looked surprisingly cool in the face of Molly's anger. But before Sherlock could open his mouth Molly did instead.

"I forgot my place in the face of friendship, Master Holmes was setting me straight." Her voice didn't even crack and Sherlock stared at her. Without another word she slipped from the room and was gone.

"Follow her Sherlock."

Molly stormed from the room and from the house. She scrambled over the garden wall and sat down behind, holding her breath to stop the tears.

What had she done? She had defied her supposed Masters. She was going to get herself in trouble. It was all Sherlock's fault. Damn Master Holmes. She drew in a shaky breath and rested her head on her knees.

.S.M.

She never saw Moran coming.

She never even heard him.

He was an assassin. It's what he did.

Sherlock had ran out the same door Molly had minutes before. He saw the trampled leaves where she'd hurled herself over the wall. So when he peered over and didn't see her dark head of hair he looked wildly around… only to see a diminishing figure in the distance.

"Molly!" The figure turned around. Sherlock squinted and saw they were carrying someone, and the figure was most definitely male. "Molly!" He yelled again. The figure ran on. "No." He gasped and turned blindly round, running for the house.


	11. Preparing to Move

A/N: Instead of reading I did this! Be impressed and then tell me off because I need to read and have to pass and pretend to succeed at life while being a closet fangirl

* * *

"Miss Hooper." A gruff voice pulled Molly from the darkness. "Oi." It sounded churlish and she wrenched her eyes open. Molly was confused. Where was she? Who was the voice? After the confusion, panic set in. It was dark and from what she could see by the sparsely placed candles she was in a shepherd's hut. There was no shepherding buildings on the Holmes' land. Molly looked blindly around, eyes struggling to adjust and her panic only increased as she realised her wrists and ankles were bound and she was unable to sit up.

"Stop squirming. The rope will only hurt more." The same voice came from a corner and a match was struck illuminating the man before her. His voice was light, polite even as though tying up people was a norm for him. That thought chilled her more than she thought it would.

"Please." Her voice croaked from disuse. "Please God don't…"

"Don't what? Don't hurt you? If they were my orders you'd been awake a long time ago." His voice still held that weird polite threatening tone to it. "My orders were to obtain you and nothing more. So far." He smiled and Molly stared at the man propped in a corner. Grey eyes stared at her. Stared and not leered she noticed. Long fair hair was gathered at the nape of his neck in a dirtied ribbon and there was stubble but not quite beard length. A long lean body stretched out before, a body she estimated to be at six foot when he stood. She knew a soldier when she saw one.

"Orders?" Her voice cracked.

"Well, I think I've got your fate sorted so you might as well know…" Still conversational about her impending death. "Mr Moriarty hired me. Junior I should add… I believe you're well acquainted." He had picked up a pistol and her heart stilled before he started to clean it. Then his words hit home. Molly Hooper knew James Moriarty. She'd been courted by him, engaged, practically up the aisle. Her parents had given consent the dress was all but made, the cake all but ordered. She knew now that Lord Holmes had intervened but when he vanished without a trace before they'd finalised the wedding she'd been heartbroken. Furious at his disappearance but ready to forgive, ready to find him and possibly elope thinking it was _his_ father stopping them.

Naturally all that changed when she watched, crouched and hidden, as said fiancé murdered her pleading mother.

"I know him." The words tasted bitter in her mouth but she swallowed and for the first time her captor smiled.

"Thought you would remember him." He grinned wider and then put the pistol aside. His leonine movement startled her for it was so swift that he was before her in an instant helping her upright. She struggled for all she was worth but his lean strength held her steadfast and he pinned her into place and fixed her with a stare.

"What are you doing?" She hissed as he carried on examining her features.

"Feeding you." He said it as though it was the most simple thing in the world. "You've been out cold all day and ether tends to make you hungry." His manner was almost gentlemanly and Molly couldn't wrap her thoughts around it that this man was the final piece into her demise. She wanted to argue against him but her stomach seemed to agree with him most loudly. A wry smile crossed his features and he fed the bread and cheese to her in small pieces, chuckling when she tried to bite his fingers. Eventually Molly ate sensibly; she resolved she'd need the strength to escape and she ignored the amused expression adorning his face. When she was finished, he laid her back down and moved back to his corner, picking up his pistol once more. Molly took the time to just stare at him. He stood restless for a moment, staring out of the window before walking around. His favoured his left leg but only slightly, noticeable to someone who was also used to hiding injuries around others. Molly spotted it quickly, feeling her wrist twinge as it protested at being bound for so long.

"Why do this?" She whispered and he stilled for a moment and sat heavily in the corner.

"Do what?" One candle was snuffed out with his bare fingers.

"You're nothing more than a mercenary, a soldier for hire, services to the highest bidder. I've been led to believe they're a little rougher than you are." She arched an eyebrow and his gaze raked over her.

"Needs must. Manners don't cost a thing." His answer brooked no argument and he stood once more. Molly shrank back, she'd felt the undercurrent of emotion beneath his demeanour but he surprised her once more by throwing a rough blanket over her prone form. "I'll be keeping watch. Don't try to run away. I run a lot faster." Two more candles were snuffed out, leaving only the one by him alight, plunging Molly into almost darkness. "Goodnight Molly Hooper."

. J.M .

"That Hooper fortune would've been mine if you let me marry the wench." James whined.

"It's not like we required their pitiful fortune." His father reminded him as they sat in one of the opulent studies in their London Townhouse.

"But still…"

"James." His father was suddenly serious and the younger man turned expectantly. "James, the net is closing around us a little tighter than I had imagined. While we believe Moran has the Hooper girl detained we must work through a few things.

"When we reach the Holmes' Manor I want Moran to search for the papers our men could not find in the debris of the Hooper House." James looked confused at his father's words and Andrew continued. "They are not only treasonous papers but there are also documents that relate to the crimes Benedict has been trying to link me to. They would secure our execution let alone imprisonment. We know the girl must still have them because we are still here." He gestured to the house around him.

Andrew looked at the flames, a grimace marring his features.

"I had no idea that Lady Hooper had been building up the documents her husband was supposedly storing for us securely. Then the stupid woman tried to blackmail me with them. She was no fool and almost succeeded but it seems that Molly had inherited her wits from her mother and not her insolent dolt of a father. Such an ugly characteristic for a woman." Andrew sneered.

"What do you want me to do father?" James pressed his fingertips together, a maniacal grin curling up the corners of his lips.

"I want those papers well and truly destroyed and I want that girl interrogated. She knows too much, not to mention that nasty engagement staining our family name." A similar look crossed both men's features. "A stipulation from her very foolish father. Well he lost the papers to his wife, heaven forbid if Benedict had really thought of searching the Hooper house."

"So papers that will bear…"

"A simple red wax seal with my fingerprint on them no crest."

"Papers destroyed, Hooper line ended, allow me to toy with the youngest Holmes; I do love to see an emotional man break!" James' voice had taken on that insane Irish lilt once more and his father nodded.

"We need to leave for Elderflower. Send word to Moran."

. S.H .

"Sherlock!" His Father bellowed. The youngest of the clan had been pacing, cursing that he never gave chase but he panicked. He murmured and occasionally threw things. His mother had already wrestled a gun off of him to save her poor walls and furniture.

"Doctor Watson is dealing with the servants." Mycroft slid into the drawing room and Sherlock broke.

"Why aren't we saving her?!" He shouted "Why aren't we out there?! Why didn't I go after her?" His voice caught and he sat down heavily "She needs us. Molly needs us." Not even Mycroft felt like making a jibe at an unusually emotional Sherlock's expense.

"It's Moriarty…" His father began.

"I don't give a damn who it is! I want them dead! I want them strung up, if they've hurt her…!" Sherlock roared and was stopped by his furious lioness mother stood.

"Sit down." She commanded. "The Moriartys' will come to us. The letter arrived as expected, it was nailed to the fence post at the edge of the drive. Molly will be alive when she's brought back here by the men who took her." Violet brandished the paper.

'_Ahh Holmes!_

_So you're missing a servant, very careless I think. We'll bring her back in one piece…maybe. It depends how helpful she is… Lady Hooper has something of ours stored in your house. We'll find it then we'll leave her with you._

_Thank you for your hospitality_

_Moriarty.' _

"They'll bring her back Sherlock." His mother wrapped his lanky frame into her arms and felt him break down, silently crying into her shoulder.


End file.
